Back in his lab, Norian paced back and forth, his expression bordering on mania.
"Why did Experiment 013 fail?" he muttered, his voice edged with frustration. After hurling his hemostat onto the workbench, he took several deep breaths, gradually calming down.
"The culture medium must have been flawed—the influence of the Label Mark was too strong," Regaining composure, he picked up a scalpel to dissect his recent failure, though it did little to quell his restlessness. It wasn't just the failed experiment—Lucian's unexpected resurgence had thrown him off.
"How did he purge that formal wizard's spell?" Norian growled, amber eyes flashing. "My mentor said his injuries were severe."
Lucian was technically weaker than him, but any third-level apprentice was a potential formal wizard, and if Lucian happened to advance first, killing Norian would be as easy as swatting a fly.
For this reason, apprentices at his level rarely let personal conflicts fester. When they did, it usually meant taking all possible measures to eliminate the threat.
"I've already solidified 103 spirit runes—just five more to reach my limit as a third-level apprentice." His fists clenched. "Lucian knows how close I am and will do everything he can to disrupt my advancement. If he succeeds, my chances will be practically ruined."
The divide between a third-level apprentice and a formal wizard was enormous. In fact, the gap between an ordinary person and a third-level apprentice was smaller than the chasm separating a third-level apprentice from a formal wizard.
This was precisely why Greybone's third-level apprentices were still dependent on the formal wizards for resources and security rather than joining forces to bargain for more power.
Advancing from a third-level apprentice to a formal wizard was notoriously difficult.
Following the Greybone Meditation Method, Norian would need to condense 108 spirit runes, then complete a rigorous "Ascension Ritual" with the help of an external catalyst, ideally with an elixir like Horus' Blessing to improve his odds.
Yet even with the best preparations, a third-level apprentice with fifth-level talent had less than a 40% success rate. Failure meant contaminating or even fracturing the spirit sea, leaving them incapacitated for years. If the failure was severe enough, their head could explode outright.
For those with lesser talent, the odds were even lower.
"And if someone sabotages the ritual…" Norian's gaze darkened. Lucian might not yet have the power to interfere, but dead men couldn't interfere.
The best way forward was to strike first, while he still had the upper hand.
Lowering his head, Norian's eyes grew cold. Killing Lucian inside the academy would be difficult due to the rules, but he had another option. His mentor was one of the formal wizards.
And Lucian, for now, had no such backing. Though he could potentially gain a mentor, he hadn't yet allied himself with any formal wizards.
This was his chance—though it wouldn't last long.
"It looks like I'll have to visit my mentor," Norian muttered, reluctantly considering the cost.
Enlisting his mentor's help was the safest option. A formal wizard could easily dispatch a third-level apprentice, though satisfying his mentor's demands would mean sacrificing a significant amount of his resources. Still, if it cleared his path to advancement, Norian considered it well worth the price.
As he left the lab, a corpse lay on his dissection table, cold and rigid. A scalpel protruded from its chest, and a metal prosthetic arm hung loosely by its side, tapping softly against the table with a dull clang. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later, Norian stood before his mentor, bowing his head respectfully.
Loren reclined on a soft red sofa, a petite yet commanding figure, despite her youthful appearance. To Norian, she was the academy's most ruthless formal wizard, her sharp gaze fixed as she stroked a three-tailed black cat sprawled lazily on a velvet cushion beside her.
Her apprentices knew that disappointing her meant ending up as one of the "quiet dolls" in her private collection.
"It will be five thousand magic stones," Loren murmured her childlike voice a chilling contrast to the price she named. "That's the cost for me to eliminate an apprentice within the academy."
The sum made Norian flinch. He lowered his head further, suppressing his surprise.
"Five thousand…" he thought bitterly. The amount was more than his entire fortune.
"I could kill a third-level apprentice easily," Loren continued, her calm gaze fixed on her polished nails. "But doing so without cause would violate certain…rules. It takes effort to make these rules, but breaking them is easy enough."